


The Fighters

by violetnyte



Series: Replacement [7]
Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fight Sex, Just a lot of fighting and fucking, M/M, Makeup Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, accidental feels, so many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8276764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetnyte/pseuds/violetnyte
Summary: Bonus story! Praxis and Deimos POV of just what exactly they were doing during Chapters 28 and 30 of Pathos. Readable on its own but won't make much sense besides being smutty feels-heavy fighter sex.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pathos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160506) by [violetnyte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetnyte/pseuds/violetnyte). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Praxis POV) Takes place during Chapter 28 of Pathos

“How about on the count of three?” I suggest.

The long, slow, smoldering look that Deimos slides out from underneath his bangs is breathtaking, and I have to grip my hands all the harder into the edge of the mattress to keep from crossing the room. He’s seated on one bed while I’m perched on this new-old bed of mine, and I’m so hard-pressed to keep myself over here on this side of the room. 

My cock is hard-pressed, right into my pants, because Deimos is sitting right over there on the other bed. He is so close that we get to breathe the same air, sit in this same small room, but he’s not close enough to touch. Fuck is it hard to stay over here on my side of the room. 

Deimos lifts his chin some. He considers it, watches me carefully in a way that's wary and sharp. He's going to fight me. He is so ready to fight me.

Even just sitting there he is so singularly the most beautiful, sexy, most perfect thing I have seen in literal months. It is taking every bit of strength I possess to grip at the bed and stay over here on my side of the room. I can’t even be upset that it’s like this, because Deimos is still smiling even though he’s furious with me. We're about to have a fight, and he is so ready to fight me.

“Fine,” he says. Such a sweet soft whisper. Oh, fuck, it is so hard to stay over here on my side of the room. 

I swallow again. “Okay,” I agree. “Three and then nod, and then we’ll say it.”

Deimos recrosses his legs and shifts on the bed, as if he’s struggling just the same to stay away from me. He’s itching and ready for a fight. I can’t believe how sexy he is, how intense he looks, I have missed him so much that it’s all I can do to stay on my side of the room. 

I push back my hair and feel the strands tug through the string of my eye patch. I try not to feel nervous, though I am. 

“One,” I say. 

Deimos settles his feet together, he sits up straight. He leans forward and tenses. He’s poised to strike even before I say, “Two.”

I shift nervously, because Deimos is glinting such an intense, focused look at me from across the room. He’s ready to hit me as hard as he can. We are going to have such a big fight.

He’s furious with me, absolutely furious that I had to blurt out,  _ we need to talk _ , just as soon as we were alone. He was so angry that he had to agree and say,  _ something to tell you _ . It makes me nervous, because maybe I don’t want to know what Deimos has to tell me, and I certainly would rather not tell Deimos anything either. Neither of us really wants to talk, we just need to. We just have to, even though I’m willing to bet we both feel it doesn’t matter, and Deimos is furious about it. He hates talking. I know he’s sitting over there just as hot and hard as I am. He’s just as mad as I am about the fact we have to do this.

I let out a long breath. I am so not ready for this fight.

“Three,” I say. We swap a nod so it's almost at the same time, almost the words overlapping so much I don’t hear him. Almost don’t want to hear him, but I do.

“Fucked Ethos’ fighter,” he says.

I say, “I kissed Ethos.” 

Deimos flies up from the bed, he barrels straight toward me. Oh, fuck, he’s fast. I jump right up onto the mattress with a yelp. 

I have to explain before he’s on me -- “Other Ethos!”

He crashes into my knees, my ankles, he claws at me to drag me down but thank God he doesn’t have a knife. For a split-second I thought he might have one. I can’t even focus on what he said, because Deimos wrestles me down and pins me with his lean legs. He straddles right over my hips soon as he can get me down on the bed. 

“Deimos --!”

“Idiot!” he shrieks. He’s furious, there are tears in his eyes as he rips out of his jacket. He yanks off his tank top and throws it just as hard as he can. He’s going to fight me just as hard as he can, oh fuck, he’s ready for this. He is so ready to fight me.

“Deimos,” I say gently. “Deimos --”

“Idiot!” he yells again. He’s so raspy, his voice is so pretty. I’m stunned by how beautiful he is, how intense he is, of course I’m an idiot but he should really let me explain. Deimos hits at me, shoves me, he smacks his hand into my chest as he starts to sob. 

He grabs at my jacket and wrestles me from it, shoving and pushing me with furious strength. He's rejecting me just as much as he’s trying to get all over me. He’s fighting me just as hard as he can that it’s bewildering, it’s beautiful, I can’t even be upset about what he’s just said but I do fucking wish he’d let me explain. 

“Deimos,” I say again. I’m just as calm as he is furious, because he’s fighting me so hard that I’m scared to hurt him if I fight back. 

“Didn't want to!” It's shouting, for him. His hands fumble over my belt and that's when I grab at him. I get his thin wrists caught close so that he twists and snips at me with such anger and fury that I let him go. I don’t want to hurt him.

“Of course not,” I say. “Of course I didn’t want to.” I plead it at him so he'll let me sit up and hug him, but he shoves me back down with a wordless sharp snarl. 

His eyes glitter with tears as he shoves me again, he smacks at my shoulder and chest. “Idiot!”

“Deimos --”

“Didn’t want to!” More shrieking, I can’t believe he’s yelling at me this much without breaking. He’s shaking with sobs but still fighting, he’s fighting me just as hard as he can, and my belt goes flying as he wrestles it free.

“Deimos, baby, let me -- ow!”

He’s smacking at me again, slapping at my hands and arms because I’ve tried to hug him once more. Deimos shoves me down and shifts to get a better pin on me -- he shoves his knees into my shoulders, straddles across my chest and gets my arms down on the mattress so I won’t hug him, so I can’t hug him calm and explain this. 

He doesn’t want to be calm -- he wants to be mad. He’s so ready to fight me, just so he can fight something. 

“Idiot!” He yanks his own belt off so fast that it snaps, it makes such a loud crack as he slaps it free. I’m scared he might kick me in the face as he rolls back to shove his pants away, and he’s right back on top of me just as soon as he’s done.

“Deimos,” I say, once again trying to be nice about this. He needs to let me explain. 

“Idiot!” he sobs. He’s crying so hard, fighting me so hard, he slaps at my hands and tries to shove me, but I’m starting to lose patience. I push him right back, I sit up with a low growl. He scrambles back, but I catch him. I grab his thin wrists in my hands and hold tight. 

“You let me explain!” I tell him. I sound mad, I sound so angry, but it’s just not fair if he doesn’t let me explain about a silly sweet navigator who caught me off guard. And I need to make him explain who the fuck he’s been fucking, and then what he’s saying really sinks in.

_ Didn’t want to. _

“Oh no. Oh, Deimos, no,” I say. He’s furious and scared in such equal measure, because he’s both answering and asking with these harsh little shrieks, and he’s fighting so hard not to explain anything more than that or ask me anything more than that. He hates talking.  

My anger softens, vanishes so quickly. “Deimos --”

He makes this strange sound, this sharply hissed snarl, he’s so absolutely furious and tense in my arms. Rather than try to pull away or twist himself free he leans toward me, he snaps toward me so quick. He’s all edges and sharp, rough as he kisses me. It’s teeth-clacking and then biting, he bites hard at my lips.

He fought free all his clothes already. He’s got me only in my pants, he tangles into my lap and shoves his hips against mine. He grinds hard against me, right where I’m hard, and all the breath leaves me as if I’ve been punched.

I let go of his wrists and he’s on me so quick, nimble little fingers dancing over the clasps on my pants. He shouldn’t have kissed me, fuck, I just keep kissing him back. I can’t think of anything other than kissing him, rubbing into him, holding him -- fuck, he’s going to win this fight.

My hands slide over his ribs, his perfect lean chest, all his tough wiry muscles and, fuck, he’s going to win. He’s such a beautiful contradiction, I love him so desperately, I never should have let him get all over me like this because I just can’t fight him back. I’m all over him, I need all of him, I want all of him -- 

I should fight him on this. I should fight him as hard as he’s fighting me. I should get us both calm to explain, sit him down and make him talk even though I know he hates it. He hates his raspy little voice, his pretty soft voice that is so rare and sweet, just so perfectly like him, such a beautiful contradiction, such an impossibly rare treasure, and he’s all over me. He wants me all over him. 

Deimos is all rough around the edges, so sharp and deadly, and then also so fragile, so incredibly fucking fragile. He’s not being fragile now, there’s nothing fragile about the way he shoves and pushes me, fighting me so hard because he wants to win. 

He kisses me, rough and frantic. He’s clumsy at kissing sometimes -- there’s something about it that makes him fragile, and I know that I’ve broken him terribly with what I said. It’d hurt him less to hear I fucked my navigator, just like it’d hurt me less to hear he kissed Sacha again rather than --

“Oh fuck!” I groan as Deimos slips in the winning blow, slips himself right over my cock because he fought me so hard that of course he wins. Of course I’ll let him win -- of course I don’t want to fight him off me now. I love him so desperately, want him so desperately, oh fuck he’s winning, he’s already won.

“Mmah!” Deimos gasps.

Now he wants to talk. 

Of course  _ now  _ he’s willing to talk.

I don’t even know how many times I jerked myself in the shower thinking of his pretty sweet nothings, all those wonderful ways that he talks when when I fuck him. So many soft, rare, beautiful whispery things that he tells me that I love so much to hear.

He’s wrestled me down, pinned me, fought me so hard because --  _ oh fuck _ \-- he wants me just as desperately as I want him. Deimos flexes into me with those lean slim thighs, he’s so small and perfect, so incredibly strong for his size, just this perfect delicate creature I love so desperately that nothing else matters. 

Deimos relaxes into me now that he knows I’ll stay down, he knows that he’s won. He stretches and flexes and skims his fingers over my chest as he sways. I set my hand on his thigh, I rub at his hip. I pull him against me with a sudden hard growl, because I am so ready to fight him now that I know he’s won.

“Aahn,” he breaths. It’s admonishing, playful, he rocks into me with a glittering sharp smile. He pushes gently at my chest as he works at a rhythm that he wants to set, but I’m going to fight him. It’s my turn to fight him.

I surge up to kiss him, I grab his lean legs. We scramble over each other so I can throw him down onto the bed. It’s kissing, all this kissing, he’s so good to kiss, I’ll explain it later that some kisses can be nothing, but kissing him is everything. I’ll explain it later, because Deimos fought me so hard to win.

Deimos bites and he nips, he moans so achingly sweet. His teeth snip at the air when I get him down on his elbows and knees so I can push in so deep. 

“ _ Aahn! _ ” he cries. His fists at the sheets and pushes back against me, still fighting, fuck he’s so good.

“Oh God,” I groan. I kiss his shoulder and back. I thrust into him again to feel the sweet way he shudders, and then I keep doing it just that same way -- all the way out, all the way in, fuck, it’s so good. He’s so good, too good, I want to take my time but no way this can be slow.

Deimos whispers and whines, he arches his back to meet each hard thrust. “ _ Praxis! _ ” he rasps, just such a perfect little noise. He sounds so smug, looks so happy he won, it’s the best kind of fighting as he pushes and I shove. 

“Fuck!” I’m not going to last, this is going to be quick. I growl and push forward, my cock in him so deep, he’s so good and knows it. He is just wicked as he speaks. 

“Mmah! Mmah!” Such soft little sounds, he knows it drives me crazy when he starts talking. Deimos claws at the mattress and digs his fingers into the sheets, he twists and he writhes, his pretty lashes flutter, he gasps just so fucking beautifully as I pump his cock in my hand, as I shift the angle to get him even more breathless and moaning. If I don’t shut up him then I’ll lose this fight, this new fight we’re having, the best kind of fight to get the other off first.

And then he does it, this wicked little minx of mine who doesn’t fight fair, he goes right for the kill with a sharp sweet gasp. “Marcus!” 

Oh, it so isn’t fair.

“ _ Fuck! _ ” It’s groaning and eye-rolling intense, I’m fighting with all of my strength, I’m never this fast and hard but Deimos doesn’t fight fair. He just wants to win, and he’s so fucking good. I moan into his back and shudder, pump, push and groan more because he is just too fucking tough for me to beat. He so completely wins, because I’m so completely his. 

I kiss at his hair, his neck, his pretty shoulders and beautiful back. I rub my hands over his thighs and hips, his lean chest and hard belly, I’m all over him and still want more. “Fuck,” I pant, breath hot against him. I kiss at his neck, his hair, he tilts his head back to give me his lips as we shake and shiver together, both done with the fight. It was such a good fight, such a close match there at the end. 

He kisses me, affectionate and sweet. Our noses rub, our foreheads bump, we both just lean into the other in the slow calm that follows. His lips stayed caught in a smug little smile, just the prettiest sweet smile. He’s just so happy he won, we don’t have to talk. I don't even mind losing, to make him look that happy about winning.

Deimos is just so thrilled that I’m here, I know that he missed me just as desperately as I missed him. I’ll still go for round two against him, soon as I catch my breath, even though I think we both know it doesn’t matter who wins. We wouldn’t both be fighters, if we didn’t like to fight. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Deimos POV) Takes place during Chapter 30 of Pathos

“Ethos --” The fighter says. His eye is so wide, that beautiful dark moon of an eye shines so bright. It betrays him, it mesmerizes me, and he can't take it off me.

He doesn’t want to fight me. I want to fight him.

He isn’t going to fight me. I am going to fight him.

The scarred skin under his patch is wide. He knows all of this.  I know that he knows this. I know him. I know him too well, and he knows me too well.

I am going to fight him, if he tries to get near me. He knows this. It won’t keep him away. 

The little navigator gives his fighter a stern, firm look. I see my navigator, my weaselly little fucking navigator, I see him smile so glittering and sharp that I think I might fight him, too. But he stays to his side of the room like I stay to mine, because a mean little weasel and fierce small mouse will rip everything to shreds if we don’t play nice over one very sweet little lamb.

I’m going to fight him, too, if he tries to get close. I'll cut myself on all his steel when I squeeze him tight in my sharp little claws. I’ll squeeze out his fluff. I’ll fucking kill him for this.

I tense my weight under my feet. The fighter sees it almost too late and takes a wary step back, but he won’t take his eye off me now. He knows me too well.

I draw in a breath that is sharp, hot. My knife. I’m going to use it to cut him, if he tries to get close. I am going to fight him. 

He knows it. He’s knows it, and still isn’t ready. He does not want to fight me.

The little navigator turns to me with the same stern look. He snatches my navigator by the hand and marches for the door. This little navigator, this dumb fucking lamb, he’s brought me a lion for the slaughter. I’m going to rip this big strong fighter to pieces if he tries to get close.

The door slides to a smooth, whispering shut.

We’re alone in the room.

I wait. If he stays back, I’ll behave. I won’t fight him. If he doesn’t talk, I won’t cut him. My knife is hot, sharp. It hurts to use in my chest, my throat, I’m burning inside but I’ll keep fighting. I am going to fight. I need to be quick. He’s strong. He’s too strong for me, I have to be quick. He’s so fucking strong.

He pushes back his hair and sighs. He’s not ready to fight me, he doesn’t want to fight me -- but he’s going to fight me anyway.

“Aleks,” he says. He’s trying to hit hard first, knock me out with one blow. He knows I’m fast, fierce, deadly. He knows me too well. He knows how to fight me. He says it hard, strong, and so fucking gentle. “Tell me what --”

I’m already up, already moving, already there. He lurches back and manages to get one arm between us before I’m on him. I grab at his jacket, kick out his ankles. I twist and throw him onto the floor where it’s just the mattresses pushed together. Plenty of room for a fight now.  

“Shut up!” I slash him with my knife. I get him down on the floor. I don’t fucking care if it hurts, I’m going to fight. It hurts, I’m not sure it’ll ever stop hurting, so it might as well keep hurting. I want to fight so hard it hurts. 

I told him to leave me alone. I told him to stay away. I told him to shut up. I screamed and slashed through a closed bathroom door until he backed off, stayed back. He keeps letting me win, but I have to keep fighting. I’m not going to break. 

I wrestle his jacket off his broad shoulders and shove my knee into his ribs to make sure he stays down. I can’t let him get me trapped. If he pins me, he wins. I have to be sharp, fast, and deadly. He won't get close if I'm fierce enough.

“Deimos,” he says.

“Idiot!” I hit my fists into his chest and yank hard on his shirt. He doesn’t move to stop me, this stupid fucking lazy lion basking on the plains. I want him to fight me, this furious grey little mouse wants to fight him. I’ll claw him, I’ll bite him, I’ll whip him into fighting.

He doesn’t grab for my wrists when I yank off his belt  or tear open his pants. He’s not going to fight me. He doesn’t want to fight me. I surge forward to kiss him, and he blocks it with his hand.

Oh, now he fucking wants to fight. He’ll fight me on this, but he won’t fight me on the rest. I shove at his hand, bite without cutting and claw without scratching. I fight him, I fight him so hard but I can’t hurt him. No matter how sharp all my pieces, I can’t cut him. I can’t hurt him.

I go crazy, frantic, become this spitting, hissing, wild trapped thing against him trying so hard to get at him, to get him to fight me but he won’t fight me back.

He makes the mistake of trying to reach for me. “Deimos...”

I slip under his arms. I shove into his lips. It’s quick, brutal, hard, and he grabs at my shoulders. He’s strong and so fucking gentle.

He shoves me back so I can’t kiss him again. “Deimos!” he snaps.

I jerk toward him, but he’s so strong. Furiously strong. Infuriatingly gentle, because his arm just goes up to block me. He’s not ready to fight -- he’s not going to fight me.

This fighter who loves me won’t fight me. He wants to be nice. “Deimos,” he says again, back to being soft, worried, so fucking gentle I can’t stand it.

He might be done fighting, but I’m not. I’m going to fight him forever.

I snarl and snip, wish I could rip at him with my claws but I already threw my jacket across the room along with his. I rip out of my tank top and hit him with it, slap the fabric into his face. “Fight me!” I shriek at him. “Fight me!”

“No.” He jerks the tank top out of his face and tries to pull me down with it. He tries to pin me -- if he gets me pinned, I’ll lose this fight.

If he tries to hug me, if he starts being so fucking gentle it hurts, I’ll break. I’ll go into all those pieces, all the ones I needed his help gathering up. If he gets any fucking closer I’m going to fight him again, and keeping fighting him, and fight him for fucking ever if I have to because I’m not going to break. I have to fight. I want to fight and keep fighting and fight forever.

I want to fight so hard it hurts.

“Deimos --”

“Didn’t want to!” I stab with my knife and my throat rips from the pain. I double over into him as the blade goes through me, too deep to be taken easily. My breath sucks in as a sob. I’m bleeding, bitter wet salt, shaking from the wounds but I have to get up. I have to fight.

I curl my fingers into sun-warmed skin, baked heat and strong. I push closer, feel him move closer.

“Aleks.”

Fuck, right in my ear. Deep, hoarse, and hurting. I shiver and try to rise off his chest. He shifts up from the bed and traps me in those strong warm arms. I feel the heat of the moment, the vibrancy in the air. He’s going to say it. If he says it I lose this fight.

“Aleks, I --”

I scream.

It’s not words, fuck coherency, I just cut hard with my knife, that hot sharp knife. I need to be loud, so he can’t say anything else. I’ll break, I’ll break if he says anything else. I’m shrill, so shrill, it’s such a shattering shrill sound that he flinches back from me. I should flinch. It hurts so much but I’m going to keep fighting. My throat, rattles, hisses, I push air hard but can’t get more. I keep fighting for more. I’ll do anything to win this fight.

He has to stay away. I’ll never stop fighting, but he’s so fucking strong. He knows me too well.

I fight for more air, I fight to rip open my ruined throat and he lunges for my wrists. I can’t hear him over the shrill rasping gasps. So fucking broken sounding, a tea kettle whistle that hurts so fucking much.

His eye is wide, so wide, such a beautiful dark moon on his distinguished scarred face. This grizzled fighter lets me go, he gets his arm off me.  

He thinks he’s won, that I’ve broken entirely but, oh, he has no idea into just how many pieces I can break. Each one sharp, each one to cut him, because I’m not done fighting. I will fight him forever.

He stares at me, too shocked to move even though I’ve gone into silent, shivering intensity.

I strike forward.

It’s metallic and sharp, hasty. Quick to be lethal. I have to strike for the kill.  I pull his cut lip between my teeth. I tangle my fingers into his hair and snap the string of his patch free. It makes him gasp. He sucks in a hard, hot breath, and I shove my tongue into his mouth.

I suck, lick, I need moisture to swallow so I can rasp, “Fuck me.”

He rocks hard against me, this fighter of mine who’s finally ready to fight me. He growls, a lazy lion not so lazy now that I’ve whipped at him enough to get him to fight. His hands close over my thighs, and I scoot back as he prowls forward.

He’s ready to fight me now. Now we’re going to fight.

He runs his hand over my hips, my waist. He grabs so I’ll bend into him, get soft and pliable against him as he turns rough. He tugs me underneath him. His knees push my legs open, oh he’s so ready to fight me, he’s done being nice. I beat the fight into him. I’m going to win, if he fights me.

He lowers over me and presses close. A trap. He trapped me. He settles his arms to either side of my face and gets me pinned in that that beautiful lopsided gaze of his, one eye brilliant and gleaming and the other just scarred skin --

Fuck. _He’s_ going to win.

He’s going to break me.

I flinch upright. I skitter back, try to crawl away quick but he grabs at my ankles, my calves. He tugs me back to him like it’s nothing, pulls me around because it’s easy for a lion to overpower one scrawny little mouse. He’s broad across the shoulders, square through the jaw, muscled and tough -- everything a fighter should be, the magnificent grizzled, scarred king of the plains who lies down with meek lambs and fierce mice. He can’t be this gentle while still being this strong, it’s not fair.

“Aleks,” he says.

I fucking choke. I get raspy and whine. I pull against his hand, but he just gets another one on me with such gentle insistence. He’s fighting me so gently, with all his strength, fighting me as hard  as he can to get close. He’s going to break me.

He cups my cheek and tries again to get me pinned. I look rapidly between his one dark eye and the scarred absence where the other should be. I make myself dizzy with it. I hear my own breath, fast and rough, as everything vibrates. Some horrible pitched whimper shakes free and keeps going. I turn into a fucking shrill tea kettle now that I want to be silent.

“Baby, please. It’s okay.”

I have to keep him from talking or he’s going to win. He’ll break me, I’m nothing but all these sharp pieces he stuck together. I squirm and kick and twist, but I can’t cut him. I can’t fucking breathe enough to scream so it’s just that stupid fucking whimper I keep making. My heart is pounding hard, fast, fucking loud pounding but not loud enough.

“Just tell me what happened, Deimos. I promise I’m not going to get mad.” He’s not fighting fair, this isn’t fair. He can’t be this nice to someone who fights him this much. I’ll fight him forever. I’m just all these sharp pieces and ready to cut. I’m too hard to love.

I can’t fucking breathe. I can’t scream, can’t fight. I just fucking can’t. He’s won.

I twitch, choke, grip at his chest. I suck in a breath and let it out in a slow shiver. Snip, slash, snap go the strings holding me up. I fall. My shoulders slump, I droop into his chest. I get my head into his shoulder, I curl up against him.  I don’t fight as his arms go around me, as they tighten. He’s just so fucking gentle it hurts.

I shudder, moan with deep ache. Such a deep hurt, a slow melting fall as my pieces tumble loose. I wish I could shatter, I wish I could be bitter and break, but he’s holding me too tight, too warm and close. The pieces don’t have anywhere to go. I twist and squirm to get closer, to shove all my pieces into his gentle warm arms.

“Did he hurt you?” Concerned, caring, worried, all that fucking gentleness in the refined hush of his voice. His lips brush my hair.

“No.” It’s an ashen rasp, just the grey little smear of one small mouse. My throat can’t fight anymore. I can’t fight anymore. I’ve gone limp against him, too hollow even to cry.

He fought so hard. He beat me, this meek lazy lion fought so hard to beat me.

“I missed you,” he says. I’m not fighting him now. I’m not trying to scream him silent. He beat me. He won, he can say what he wants. I’ll let him hurt me.  “I’m so happy to be with you, Deimos. I love you. I’m just glad you’re okay. I’m not mad, really. Just worried.”

I feel him swallow. He strokes at my hair and then presses his lips into my forehead. He fought me so hard, just to be nice. He fought so hard to get close to all these sharp pieces.

I bolt up from his chest. I fix him with a sharp stabbing glare. I spit the words at him, each little fucking piece full of hurt. Let him figure out how the fuck they need to fit together. See how he likes the way that they cut, so jagged and sharp.

“Let him. Told him I wanted it. Asked for it. Didn’t have to. Did it anyway. Can’t undo it. No --” I am so angry that all I can think to do is hit his chest to mime it until the word pops into my head -- “button,” I snap. “No button.”

I’m breathing hard, shaking, hands curling into his chest. I push forward. I have to be quick. “Didn’t want to. Didn’t want him. Wanted to fight, didn’t. Could. Didn’t. Didn’t - didn’t fight.”

It hurts, my throat stings, my eyes sting, it hurts so fucking much to breathe but I do. I need air, I need to fight past this sharp sting. I need to keep fighting.

I give him the sharpest piece yet. The one that hurts the most, my deadliest and last piece. The one that he gave me, and I threw away as soon as he left. I snip it at him, throw it at him just as hard as I can, so vicious and cruel in a little mouse’s small snarl as I go for the kill. Angry and rasping with hot tears in my eyes, as quick as the rest I’ve spat out.

“Love you.”

I break him with it.  I see him break, hear the sound of him breaking.

It’s a sob, a terrible deep sob. He does it again and then covers his mouth. That one beautiful dark eye betrays him, betrays all his hurt, and starts to bleed bitter wet salt as I watch.

I cut him. Oh, I cut him.

I cut him with all my sharp little claws, all those fucking pieces, and victory is a ripping, jagged ruin through me. I can’t breathe, can’t move. Just fucking stare at him, stare at the shattered pieces he’s become.  I see each tear gather. Each beautiful tear so ugly to see. So ugly they hurt to watch, but I can’t look away. More fall, each one a cut that I gave him.

I pull back to stare. I can’t fucking breathe. I cut him so deep.

More tears, another sob, his fingers tighten and then he shakes his head. He doesn’t want me to see. He puts his face into his knees. I jump to my feet.

I skitter off the mattress and nearly fall on my fucking face. I dart for the door and then turn around, fast and frantic, this small grey mouse squeaking. I dash back to the mattress and run my feet in a circle, I wave my hands without hitting anything because this big strong fighter I love is crying. I broke him. I won.

I have to fight something. I can’t fight him. I don’t want to. I can’t. I cut him, I cut him with all those sharp pieces. I broke him into pieces, he’s gone to pieces on me.

I put my fingers into my hair. I grip at my bangs, spin around in a circle. I whirl and then go at him. I dive back to the floor and get all over him. He tenses, because I’m going to fight him. I’m ready to fight him. I’m going to fight him as hard as I can. I'm going to grab all his pieces and shove them together. 

I rub my cheek into his shoulder, I stroke my hands over arms. I shove and push wherever I can to make him let me in close again. I wiggle my fingers into the strong clench of his arms until he relents. I kiss small places, nudge and shove closer. I crawl over him, wrap into him, curl and clutch tight to get him pinned.

“Sorry,” I gasp. “Marcus! Sorry!”

I’ll put away my knives, I won’t cut the poor grizzled lion with my claws. I push the edges smooth to sound soft, I shove and beat all the air that I can into my ugly little rasp. I fight as hard as I can to sound nice, gentle. These are his pieces. They don't cut.

“Had to do something. Didn’t know what else to do. Shouldn’t have. Should have done something else. Know that. Know was wrong. Didn’t want to. Hated it. So sorry. Won’t do it again.” It’s just a such a sweet soft whisper that I’ve beat to be mine. “Sorry. So sorry.”

He grabs me and shudders. I push in closer, I shove to get under his jaw to kiss his throat. I curl my hand against the back of his neck, curl my fingers into those silk-fine strands. He shudders again and stops crying. I stay close and push my lips into his pulse.

“Love you.” My lips brush the hot thrum of his neck. “Only you. Always you. I love you.”

“Deimos, enough. Okay,” he says. There’s a chuckle in it, a rumbling growl as his hand rubs along the line of my back. Gentle and strong like always, all his pieces firmly in place. “Okay. It’s just enough that you’re okay. I’m not --” he chokes on the word _mad_.

He draws in a breath to stay calm and cups the back of my neck. He draws me in close. He’s trying to hold on to his pieces.

Oh, I know him too well. He shouldn’t have let me in close. I’m going to lose this fight. He has no idea how ready I am to lose this fight.

I jerk my head back. He lifts his head up as well and tenses to fight. Good, I’ve put the fight back into him. I didn’t break him enough he stays broken. I need him to fight, because I am so ready to lose this fight. My fingers curl against his shoulders. His dig into my waist.

I draw in a long breath, sharp, hard -- I push it out deep and slow. Gentle, strong, I breathe that way until it’s smooth. I’ll talk to him, if he wants to talk. He has no idea how fast he is about to win this fight.

I smile sweetly with my new knife. Such a well-polished blade that glimmers and shines, so that this fighter I’m fighting gets very still. I don't think he knows he’s about to win this fight. I try not to look smug, because I know I’m about to lose this fight.

“Fine, it’s fine. Not mad either. Didn’t hurt, was fine. Am fine. Didn’t know what else to do, did something stupid. Just -- was stupid. Idiot. I’m an idiot. Should have fought. Knew would hurt you. Did it anyway -- didn’t fight. Should have fought hard not to hurt you. Didn’t. So sorry. Love you.”

The beautiful moon goes so fucking round and dark. He doesn’t know what to say. I hit him too quick. He just looks stunned. “Ethos --”

I huff at him. “Yes. Did it for him. Had to help. He didn’t want me to. Didn’t work anyway. So stupid. Shouldn’t have. Know that. Idiot,” I say. “I’m an idiot.”

He leans in to kiss me. It’s gentle, soft, noses bumping and then foreheads together. He strokes a hand over my hair, cups warmth into the back of my neck. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m an idiot, too. Deimos, I --”

I cut him off quick-flashing grin. It pulls my face in ways that makes him tremble. I am such a fearsome little mouse, snipping at him so sweetly with my teeth.  “Don’t care. Like navigators, get it. Soft, cute, not me. Navigators like you, get it. Too handsome, big, strong, nice -- much too fucking nice!” I grit my teeth. I draw in a quick breath. He shifts to speak, but I whisk my knife around fast.  “Fine, like it, don’t need to change. Like you’re nice, strong -- Love you, hot. Great. Best. Okay?” I flick a dismissive hand between us, the gesture sharp so he knows I mean it. “Doesn’t matter. Still love you.”

He's going to fight me. I see the urge to roar and bluster ripple over his moon-struck shock. His brows tighten so that the scarred skin catches my breath, sets my fingers and toes into tingling. He's ready to fight me. He wants to fight me.

“Deimos --”

I go straight for the kill. I cut him off with a kiss -- gentle, slow, deep. I melt up against him, so sinfully sweet. He doesn’t stand a chance against one grey little mouse. I’m colony trash, some slut on my knees, a sleek tough fighter -- and I’ll fight so hard to lose this fight. I roll up against him. I get my arms around his neck and circle his waist. I’m honey over him, melted thick and still going. I slither my fingers into his hair, I kiss under his jaw. I nudge him down into the bedding and roll up on top of his hips. He has no idea how hard I will fight.

I flash him my knife. I whisk it around as a whip. He’s so stunned he’s shaking, this magnificent lion of mine. “Marcus,” I hush. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers.

“You’re mine,” I hush. “I’m yours. Doesn’t matter.”

His throat bobs. He sucks in a breath. I’ll fight so hard to make sure he wins this fight.

My thighs twitch against him. Like static shock he jolts, grabs my shoulders in a crushing gentle vise. He sits up with a low rumble. I gasp and jerk but he's strong, so fucking strong . Our lips meet, I get my claws into his neck. I go flat against him to get under his arms but let him catch me. I squeak such a soft, "Aahn!"

Oh, fuck. He is so ready to fight me.

“Deimos,” he growls. “It matters to me.”

He says it slow, serious, growling so fierce as he prowls and pounces. My lion, this man I love, he’s going to fight me so hard. I am so happy to let him win this fight. I’m losing this fight. I bite kisses into his lips with a sweet snarl.

He pushes me back enough to get me pinned down with his eye, he’s determined to win. He’s so ready to fight me. “I only ever want to kiss you. I only ever want to be with you. I don’t want anyone except you. Soft cute navigators can go to hell. I want a hard deadly fighter.”

I love when he gets to roaring, blustering and hot. He yanks me in close. His knees push me open, he rolls up against me. “Too hard,” I tell him. “Too sharp.” I rock my hips against him, bare my teeth and twist, but I’m losing this fight.

He kisses into the pockets of my scrunched up face. “Hard and hot, fuck, yeah. Yeah, you are,” he says. He growls into my ear again, “Fuck, I want you. I’ll always want you.”

I claw at his hair, I cut into his shoulder with my teeth. I gasp small knives against him, shiver and push close. I’m the one going wild, a frantic quick mouse making all these soft squeaks. I pull our faces close to kiss him, pant hot breath over his lips. “Hurt you.”

He snorts out a breath. “Fine. I’m tough.”

“Fight you,” I warn him. “Fight you hard.”

“Good.” He presses into my lips with a laugh, such a deep rumbling warm laugh, my wonderful lion’s blustering sweet roar. “I like to fight.”

“Aahn!” Such a sweet flick of my knife. I whip at my so strong gentle lion, to lure him in closer. I twist and rub, shiver in tight. I know just the right places. I’ll go down fighting, but I’m losing this fight.

His hands rub me, push me and pull. He savors each piece, nibbles and bites as he goes. I shiver and stretch my fingers into his hair. I wrap my hands tight over his neck as he flips me upside down.

“Mmn!” My thighs go around his neck and I squeeze. “Paah!” 

“Deimos.” He licks the word into my thighs. I stretch further, push hard against him. I’m going down fighting, but oh am I so losing --

When he tosses me I flop and then use the momentum to roll. I spread myself down and then spring quick to wrangle him back into my claws once he’s near. My fingers curl into his dark glossy mane as he shoves me forward, so fucking gentle as he gets me pinned.

I dig my claws into the sheets and jerk with a whine. Oh, fuck, he’s in me -- savoring slow tight heat that he’s good at giving. My legs twitch and I shiver, I twist and push back so he gasps. I’ll go down fighting, but oh am I losing this fight.

“Oh, Deimos,” he shudders. He goes over every piece, every small piece on my body. He feels over me as if he’s forgotten each knuckle and joint. His teeth nip into my wrists, my elbows, each small claw -- he rips me into such small pieces I break. He’s just too fucking strong.  

“Mmnm! Aahn!” I cry out in defeat. I slump against him, shuddering and gasping as come streaks over belly and chest. I hear his rumble and roar, see his smug fucking grin. He knows he’s won. I’ll let him love me.  


End file.
